


Breathe

by heckmedic



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, minor mentions of addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-22 00:31:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6063996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckmedic/pseuds/heckmedic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's not a lot of comfort to be had in a base of cold hearted killers. Even less, when you're one of the worst by their standards. The Medi Gun, at least, helped him run from his problems for a little while. Until Spy witnesses something he never would have otherwise, and matters become altogether more complicated.</p>
<p>(On hiatus for now, until In Search Of More is finished and I've got everything posted for sniperspy appreciation week)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Inspired by this wonderful piece of fanart by weenie-kun over on tumblr: http://weenie-kun.tumblr.com/post/127831355784/haha-fuck

Spy had little reason to trust Medic aside from the fact that he was on the same team. He was certain the man was just as insane as their Pyro and that the only difference was that Medic hid it better. True, he could be depended upon in the heat of battle to leap to a fallen comrade's aid, coat flying and bone saw flashing, but everyone had quickly learned to steer clear of him once the siren sounded and the day's fight was over. Doing anything else resulted in dubious surgeries and ponderously-calculated doses of anaesthetic.

It had got to the point a little whole ago that Scout had hidden a broken arm overnight to avoid visiting the infirmary, only getting relief when he went through respawn the next day. Spy had little fear of Medic though; he was man just the same as himself and he made a solemn vow some time ago that if he ever saw a needle coming towards him when he hadn't expressly asked for one, there'd quickly be a dislocated shoulder underneath his palm and a blade at a throat. If Administration knew it was this bad, they had a piss poor way of dealing with it.

Recently, however, Medic outside of battle had become considerably mellower and the team was quickly losing their suspicions. He was hanging around in the mess hall for longer and longer after dinner, laughing more and more openly at Scout's appalling puns. Gradually, the others were giving in and welcoming him. Spy remained dubious. He felt out of place with that opinion compared to the rest of the team, but it was in his job description to be suspicious and to trust no one. So he maintained his minimum-interaction relationship with Medic despite the fact that Medic was...Well, more up for interaction than he had ever been before.

Unfortunately for Spy, pain boundaries tended to decrease significantly when going to Medic didn't require a trip across an open space fraught with bullets. So as much as he liked to think he could handle a few bruises as well as the next man, he wasn't going to let his suspicions get in the way of a few pills. He'd been nursing a headache all day since a BLU Sniper's headshot felled him at the start of the mission and it was quickly wearing thin. From his vantage point of the rather glamorous rear fire escape staircase, he could see that the sun was starting to set and he could feel that a bite of cold was coming into the dry desert air. Squinting, Spy took a final drag on his cigarette before flicking the stub gracefully over the railings and heading back inside. He didn't feel like going all the way to the infirmary if he didn't have to, so he chanced finding a bottle of pills in the kitchen.

Scout was sitting on the table, bouncing a baseball against the wall.

"Is there someone you're waiting for?" Spy  asked politely. It was unusual to see Scout in one place, alone, for more than thirty seconds at a time.

"Waitin' for Pyro," he said, still bouncing the ball "I'm gonna teach 'em how to make a slingshot."

"You would give the most dangerous member of the team even more weaponry at their disposal? Unwise, perhaps."

"Aw, stop ruinin' our fun, Spook. Not everyone spends their free time readin' Gentleman's Quarterly."

Spy sighed and decided to just look for what he was here for. As he began rifling through the cupboards, Scout mercifully stopped bouncing the baseball and asked sweetly:

"Somethin' you're looking for, Spy?"

"Painkillers" Spy muttered, not removing his head from the cupboard and wondering simultaneously why they had thirteen different kinds of breakfast cereal.

Scout resumed bouncing the baseball. Each thud against the wall put shocks of pain rattling in Spy's skull.

"None in there. Sniper stole them earlier for his backache."

" _All_ of them?"

"There were only four left in the bottle. He wanted the second pair for the morning if it still hurt."

Spy made a mental note there to steal the keys for the Australian's campervan the next morning. He sighed and carefully shut the cupboard door, resisting the urge to snap at Scout to _stop bouncing the damn ball_ and tell him where Sniper was on the off chance he could beg a few of those pills for himself.

"I _suppose_ it would be too much to ask that you don't have a personal stash I could use?"

"Nah. And if I did, I wouldn't let you have any." Scout replied, chewing loudly on his gum. "Looks like you'll have to go see the Doc."

"Hmm. He has been much more sociable of late. Do you know where he went?"

"Not a clue. Probably gettin' his ass handed to him at chess by Heavy again. Wherever he is though, he ain't here."

"Thank you for your observation" Spy muttered, stalking out of the kitchen and narrowly escaping the baseball that was aimed at the back of his head for that remark. He found Heavy sitting at the table set up outside on the decking. It was odd to see such a large man sitting so comfortably on folding chairs that next to him looked like they were made for dolls, but Spy was more concerned by the fact that the chessboard Scout had mentioned wasn't there. Spy cleared his throat politely, waiting until Heavy had set down his book before continuing:

"Have you seen the docteur, Heavy? I must speak with him."

"Doktor said he was going to Infirmary. Had paperwork."

"Ah. Thank you."

Heavy waved that away and resumed reading. Medic, choosing paperwork over chess? That didn't sound right.

It wasn't an enormous problem. Medic was...Unstable, yes, but he wasn't impossible to reason with. Hell, with how sociable he'd been recently, he may begrudge Spy a few painkillers _without_ demanding a front seat view of his appendix in return. He headed for the infirmary and resisted the urge to light up again-Medic didn't take well to smoking in his domain and Spy was nearly out of cigarettes anyway. He stopped before the double doors and hesitated before knocking briskly on the large red cross emblazoned upon them .A call of "ja!" didn't come, or any sound at all for that matter. Now that he thought of it, he noticed that the lights were all off. With care, he slipped through the doors and snuck over to the locked cabinets, struggling in the low light to see what he was looking at through the glass fronts. Medic's infirmary was an odd mix of perfect organization and complete chaos-his desk (empty, desk lamp unlit) was littered with papers. Spy was perfectly capable of reading German, but the issue was that Medic had perhaps the most variable handwriting known to man, switching from elegant cursive to indecipherable block printing in the next line. His instruments, however, were clearly lavished with care. On the side, lined up like pieces of fine art, were the various Medi Guns, charging. As Spy skulked past them to another set of cabinets, he felt the air become colder as he went past them, humming softly with static. He considered briefly picking one up and seeing if a heal beam would cure him of his headache, but they looked heavy and awkward and the risk of making a noise for  a heal which for all he knew only mended bones and cuts wasn't worth the risk.

As he stretched up to try and reach a higher up cabinet, he failed to notice the tray of forceps and scalpels lying beside the cabinet door. As he reached, Spy's suit jacket flicked the corner and before he could react, the tray had come down in a cacophonous crash of tinkling metal and cymbal-like sounds as the tray danced on its corners before finally falling flat. In the silence of the infirmary, it sounded like a bomb had gone off. Cursing internally, Spy froze, awaiting some cry of alarm from Medic. The silence, however, returned seconds later. He looked down at the scattered tools, wondering if they might jump up and return to their spot. From where he was, however, Spy was able to notice something which was otherwise invisible from the double doors into the infirmary.

An inconspicuous door, which until then he'd assumed for months was only a supply cupboard or some such thing, was cracked slightly open. Looking over his shoulder, arms still up stretched, he could see the change from tile to carpet and what may have been the edge of a chair. Slowly returning down from the balls of his feet, Spy forced his eyes to focus in the low light. From the cracked door, a very faint red glow emanated. It was nearly invisible against the blackness of the infirmary and Spy was dumbfounded for a second until he heard the hum of the charging Medi Guns again. The glow, all of a sudden, made more sense.

Spy was suddenly aware of how much he was trespassing. Normally, he wouldn't give a second thought to stalking around like this, but this was the one part of the base which was exclusively Medic's, a teammate's, and here he was, sneaking around and making more noise than any self-respecting Spy would allow himself to. As much as Spy distrusted Medic, he wasn't about to snoop around without just a smidge of guilt. _Maudire. I only wanted some painkillers._

Frowning once more at the fallen instruments, Spy wondered again where Medic was. In the shower room, perhaps? No, his distinctive white overcoat was hung over the back of his desk chair. Spy took a second to admire it. When Medic was keeping up with the rest of them during battle, the long tail would flutter and tumble in the wind, so much like the white doves Medic was so fond of. It certainly made for a welcome, if imposing, sight when you were slumped against a walls with a belly full of buckshot.

Wincing as that thought renewed his headache, Spy went to creep back out and hunt down Sniper for those pills. But the curiosity that pulled him towards that open door proved too much.  All the more aware of the silence now that he'd disturbed it once, Spy was careful to keep his steps light and even so his shoes didn't click on the tiled floor. Peering round the edge of the door, Spy was met with a sight that only raised more questions. As he had suspected, the room was in fact, not a supply cupboard and more of a...Lounge? It was carpeted inside and he could make out bookcases on the far wall. Beside the door, however, was the arm of the chair he'd seen and draped over it carelessly, Medic's gloveless arm. Spy stared at it for a moment, not finding the idea of it no longer being attached to the owner a stretch of the imagination at all. Changing his angle a little however,  Spy saw Medic's shoulder and the side of his neck.

The inside of the room was bathed in red, softly pulsing light. It was brighter in there and a chill draught sighed from the open doorway. It wasn't cold or unpleasant, just noticeably different to the air in the infirmary. Still watching Medic, Spy was intrigued to not see the man breathing. More out of curiosity than worry for his team mate's safety, he soundlessly opened the door and walked into the room.

Medic, formal, crisp, well-dressed Medic, was sprawled across the sofa, head back and eyes closed. Spy thought for a moment he was dead, but that would've been hard to imagine, given that the source of the red light was a Medi Gun resting on the sofa in between Medic's legs with its beam trained on his face. Spy watched in fascination as the vapours left the nozzle of the gun, breaking up into swirls and eddies as they met the sharp line of his jaw. Spy thought it was beautiful for a moment before he realised what exactly he was looking at. Now that he was inside the room, Spy could see that Medic was, in fact, breathing. Just very deeply and evenly, as though he were asleep.

That was nearly the assumption Spy left with until he froze in the doorway when Medic spoke:

"What did you want, Herr Spy?"

Rather than answer the question, Spy turned in the doorway and met Medic's hazy gaze.

"How did you know it was me?"

Medic smiled drowsily and reached up slowly to tap the side of his nose.

"You smell like cigarette smoke."

Spy frowned and the dozy, content expression didn't leave Medic's face. It was a something Spy had never expected to see and yet the image of Medic craning his head backwards and smiling like a schoolboy who just got kissed by his crush wasn't as funny as he expected it to be. Spy fiddled absently with his cuff link.

"Are you high?" he asked flatly.

The doctor looked like he was concentrating before meeting Spy's disgruntled look again.

" _Nein. Viellecht_. Something like that. You did not answer my question."

Uncertain what to do with this strange situation, Spy crossed his arms and glanced out at the infirmary doors. He could just leave Medic to...Whatever this was and find Sniper. But this looked interesting and with such strange handwriting, Spy was short on blackmail material for his white-coated team mate. He did not allow himself the train of thought that this might be his chance to get to know Medic a little better, outside of the mess hall and battle grounds.

"I have a headache and came down to get some pain killers."

Medic huffed a little giggle at that and turned away, closing his eyes again as he basked in the red vapours of the Medi Gun.

"No need." he replied after a beat, patting the sofa beside him.

Spy looked down at Medic in confusion.

"You are...Inviting me to get high with you?"

"I am inviting you to _relax_ with me." Medic replied absently, as if it was the most casual thing in the world. With a huff of tension, Spy returned to the room and put the door to again.

He sat down next to Medic as he had been offered and waited for the Medi Gun to be tilted in his direction. He'd hang around for long enough to wait and see if the beam got rid of his headache and if it didn't, he'd leave and find Sniper. Simple.

But after half a minute, Medic remained exactly as he was, still smiling faintly up at the ceiling. Spy was aware of his leg stretched out across the cushion seats behind him; he could feel the patent leather of Medic's boot through the back of his jacket. Prickles raced up his spine.

"Are you going to let me have some or not?" he snapped irritably, wishing for a cigarette.

Medic still didn't move.

"Beam is not...Wide enough. Have to come over here." and he motioned lazily with the arm which had previously been draped across the back of the sofa.

"I'm not going to lie on top of you so I can get a little overheal, _docteur_."

At that, Medic sighed slightly and slowly struggled to sit up properly. Spy was concerned about the heavy equipment crushing _other_ equipment of Medic's in the area, but said nothing. He was transfixed; it was like watching a drunk, or an old man. Whoever this was, it certainly wasn't the same Medic that leapt across crates stacked two high, bone saw flashing in the sun. It was the first smile Spy had seen on Medic's face that wasn't provoked by a bone saw meeting flesh. It...Looked good on him, Spy thought. Such a shame the Docteur didn't smile like that more often.

Once he was finally sat up properly, Medic seemed to finally notice his leg stretched out behind Spy and he carefully retracted it, cradling the body of the Medi Gun nozzle with more care than his inebriated state might otherwise suggest. He tilted the gun upwards so that it's beam dispersed against the ceiling. They both watched the vapours spread out slowly on the cracking plaster, like ripples in a pond, for a moment. Medic then rested his chin delicately on the very end of the gun, sighing in contentment as the beam broke over him again. A few seconds later he pulled away, blinking. He tilted the gun over, offering it to Spy. He looked at it, suspicious, even though it had saved his life more times than he could count. How many of the bloodstains on the taped up nozzle were his, he wondered?

Cautiously, he leant over the beam and was immediately grateful he did. Medic must've seen the scowl lift from his face as he said lightly:

"Good, _ja_?"

" _Oui_ " Spy replied.

He wasn't lying. The healing beam felt so much stronger this close. The faint tingle he got when healed from afar during battle was multiplied, so that his whole body was alive with the sensation, from his head to his toes, making him feel warm all over despite the pleasant chills that arced over his skin. The pain of his headache quickly left, but he found himself feeling more and more reluctant to lean away. The vapours were silky against his skin, and they smelt faintly of something sharp and crisp, like ozone or menthol. Nothing but a sense of contentment and relaxation came from the nozzle. Medic wasn't getting high at all.

Spy's thoughts quickly gave way to little more than a pleasant feeling of drowsiness and contentment. Whatever it was Medic had charged the Medi Gun with, it was as good as a freshly made bed and a shot of whiskey all at once.

" _Mon Dieu_ , what did you put in this thing?" Spy muttered to himself, adopting the same dreamy expression Medic had been wearing earlier.

"Nothing" he replied smugly.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing! Effects of beam are...Multiplied at such close range." Medic explained, yawning in the middle of his sentence.

"I will have to get headaches more often, _Docteur_."

The sensation of sleepiness was almost overpowering now; he stifled a yawn and in doing so, realised just what he might be getting into. His head no longer hurt and the other few aches and pains that had haunted him back from respawn were gone as well. _You're not hurting anymore; get up and get out._

Coughing lightly, Spy handed the Medi Gun nozzle back to Medic, throat feeling cool as he exhaled the last wisps of vapour from his lungs. He felt invigorated with all the briskness of a frosty December morning, with none of the stinging coldness attached. Spy was all formality again now; true, this wasn't how he'd expected to be freed from his headache, but at least he'd been spared the indignity of sprinting across the loading yard in search of Sniper. And whatever Medic got up to during his off hours was none of Spy's business, so long as his own internal organs weren't involved.

He rose from the chair and brushed himself off out of habit; Medic had the Medi Gun back under his chin now and was returning to the position Spy had found him in. Wanting something to do with his hands, Spy checked his watch. Eight o'clock. The night was still young, so he decided to take his leave.

"Again, thank you for the overheal, _Docteur_."

" _Kein problem_."

And he was just going to...Let Spy leave? It seemed too simple; perhaps he was receiving no trouble because he had just inadvertently irradiated himself or something. Spy decided to leave before Medic came to his senses and started talking about checkups. He politely closed the lounge door behind himself, still amazed at how well it blended in with the rest of the room. He went to leave before recalling the tray of instruments. Hesitating before the double doors, he sighed and pulled a fountain pen out of his pocket and stealing a scrap of paper from Medic's desk, writing three elegant, tilted letters before capping his pen and leaving.

He left the I.O.U taped to one of the charging Medi Guns, fluttering in the faint draught.


	2. Chapter Two

The BLU Scout came at him from seemingly nowhere. One moment, he was turning to the door, briefcase in one hand and cigarette in the other. Next thing he knew, a bat was coming up at him from below, connecting with his jaw in an explosion of pain. Two teeth glittered in the yellow light of the unshaded bulb overhead, twirling red trails behind them. The mercy kill of a pistol round to the temple came only a few seconds after, but not before he felt the briefcase being pried from his grasp.

As always, he was uncertain of just how much time he spent in the oblique nothingness of the respawn system. When Spy came to, teeth still in his jaw and head thankfully whole, he startled when he looked up to see that same Scout sitting across from him, taping up his bloodied knuckles. Ok, it wasn't the same Scout, but close enough to make him doubt for a second.

"Which one got ya this time?" Scout asked, not looking up as he tied the bandage off tightly, flexing his fingers.

"Your evil twin" Spy griped, rubbing his jaw and chasing the memory of that baseball bat away. Scout sighed and hopped to his feet, checking the ammo left in his pistol before glancing to the open door beyond. Gunfire pattered outside; the Demoman could be heard, distantly, cursing.

"That sucks" Scout said simply, helping Spy up from the bench.

"Why can't you be that nice _out_ side of battle?"

Scout shrugged. "Kinda obligated to help the oldies like you out if I can. No chance of ya keepin' up otherwise."

With that, he jogged outside, calling out if anyone had missed him. Spy heard an especially loud shot clip the doorframe and Scout's high cry of "oh shit!" before he bolted out of the BLU Sniper's range. As he watched the battle unfold, framed in the rectangle of the doorway, he watched their Soldier scramble to the top of a large crate and fire his rocket launcher, screaming the whole while. Spy couldn't hear him from respawn, but he did see the American buckle over and shudder as bullets pecked at him. He waved an arm in the air, _Medic! Medic!_ and almost immediately, the doctor rushed past and with the assistance of some cover fire from Heavy, gave Soldier just enough of a heal to help him get himself out of trouble and into cover. In real time, it was a wave, an elegant flash of white and red leaping through the air and then a return to chaos.

There was still a feeling of aching pain in the back of his jaw (respawn seemed to have an issue recreating cyanide molars, apparently) so Spy selected a cigarette from his disguise kit and lit up, puffing thoughtfully. If Medic remembered being interrupted the night before whilst...Relaxing, as he had put it, he made no mention of it this morning as they were all choosing their load outs. Did he remember, and just not care? It was difficult to tell just how much more amicable the Medi Gun had made him on the field; to Spy's trained eye, he leaped around and screamed blue murder just as well as he always did. There was a shriek from the intercom as the Administrator announced BLU's acquisition of RED intelligence.

Spy sighed and tapped his watch, feeling the air around him ripple as his cloak went up.

Back to work.

* * *

They lost. Only by a hair, but that was enough to have Scout fuming all the way back to base, practically spawning rainclouds in the cab of Engineer's pick up.

"Oh, quit whinin' boy, you can get 'em back tomorrow."

"I wouldn't have to, if _someone_ hadn't fumbled with the intelligence!"

"Please-I'm only as human as the rest of you-"

"Debatable" Scout muttered, sliding down in his seat. Spy heard Engineer pat his knee a couple of times soothingly before he turned to the window and exhaled a stream of smoke. He watched it get ripped away in the wind. He felt much the same as Scout really, though at the time he hadn't known they would've lost because that Scout happened to catch up to him. He intended to keep a closer eye on Medic, now that he knew something more about what went on behind the Infirmary doors out of hours. By this point, he couldn't and didn't bother to separate his own curiosity from the nosiness his position required of him. As he smoked and listened to Scout's muttered discomforts, he rubbed thoughtfully at his jaw again, feeling the faint sting from the regrowing tooth root. It was getting worse now-Spy was suddenly transported back to memories of younger days, when having teeth growing in meant he could finally snarl back at the bullies and not flash a mouthful of gaps. In spite of himself, he smiled fondly at that memory and indulged in it for the rest of the drive. How much fiercer he had been back then, before the arrival of revolvers in his life bridled his raw fighting spirit.

The RED base quickly loomed out of the desert, concealed behind a poorly-painted canvas screen. As Engineer slowed the pickup, Scout impatiently popped open the sun roof and scrambled over the top and out of the back of the truck, running off to sulk. Spy heard Pyro hoot in surprise as their friend passed over head, then scrambled awkwardly to follow. Engineer sighed and pulled the sunroof back down.

"Well, that's one way to exit a moving vehicle."

"One of forty seven" Spy muttered, tapping ash out of the side window. Engineer scowled and drove slowly over to the garage door, waiting for it to open.

"You've been in a real mood today, Spook."

"You can tell the difference?"

"Heck, y'don't make it easy. Anythin' going on?"

"Only a little toothache. Respawn doesn't deal well with replicating cyanide molars. I'm going to throttle their Scout first time I see him tomorrow."

"Better get Doc to take a look at it when he gets back. Gotta be on top form to get them BLUs."

"Hmm."

With that, Spy let himself out of the truck, thanked Engineer for the lift and finished smoking his cigarette outside the kitchen door. Demo lumbered out of the back of the pick up as Engineer ushered it into the garage-Sniper's van had yet to reappear. Spy waited patiently for it; he wanted to talk to Medic before either of them got entrapped in the scuffles and fights that would undoubtedly break out later-there were always fights on lost days, which he carefully tried to steer clear of.

He heard the van's ailing engine long before he saw it, so Spy tamped out his cigarette underfoot and waited for Sniper to cautiously park a way out behind the garage where he always did. Medic and Sniper strode briskly towards the armoury to ditch their weaponry. Spy, being more lightly armed than any of them, was more than comfortable with keeping his knives and revolver around for a little while longer. He knew that Sniper would take some time to lavish his rifle with attention before stowing it away for the night. In a few moments, Medic would be returning, alone, lugging his Medi Gun and heading to the Infirmary to set it to charge.

Spy was glad to be proven right and he watched Medic's body language carefully, to see if he would remember. They hadn't encountered each other during battle that day and Spy had nipped in and out with his own breakfast fairly quickly that morning. If Medic recalled what had happened the night before, his reaction now would prove it.

To ensure that Medic couldn't possibly miss him, Spy carefully held open the door to allow him inside; the Medi Gun was a bulky piece of equipment and Medic huffed a strained "danke" as Spy let him pass. Silently, he followed Medic inside.  The doctor was shrugging out of the backpack part of the Medi Gun, allowing it to fall with a thud onto the card table within. Spy reached out to straighten one of the many half-empty bottles stood up on it as Medic's motions threatened to topple it over.

"Careful, Docteur. Demoman will not be pleased if you spill his rum."

Medic glanced up and in that second which they made eye contact, Spy saw all he needed to know. Those icy grey eyes were carefully guarded; Medic clearly had to wrestle with himself not to avoid eye contact and make himself appear guilty of something. Spy considered letting this slip, allow Medic to think that he too was going to pretend it didn't happen. The Medi Gun had been gathered up in the other man's arms and he was about to head out when Spy chose otherwise:

"I would like to know how long exactly this has been going on" he said, tapping the nozzle of the Medi Gun lightly. Medic brushed his hand away, protective of his (apparently) delicate equipment.

"Evidently long enough for you to have become nosy about it." Medic replied tartly.

The difference was noticeable, though surely caused by more than the loss of a briefcase of papers. The door creaked as it closed behind Medic-Spy could hear his rubber boots squeaking slightly on the floor and the jangle-tap of the Medi Gun in his arms against the buckles of his belt. He heard Engineer walking up, so he carefully schooled his expression to neutrality as the Texan fetched a beer from the fridge. He popped the cap with a hiss and watched Spy adjust his shirt cuffs.

"Did...I just miss something?"

"Nothing more than a moment of carelessness. By all accounts, the Medi Gun is the heaviest piece of weaponry in all the armoury."

"Well, so long as neither of ya'll spilled Demo's rum. He'll be wantin' that later."

"Indeed."

"Hey, you want a beer before you vanish for the night?"

Spy smiled softly at Engineer's gentle poke, but didn't take the bait.

"Non...It might aggravate my toothache."

Engineer nodded and headed back out to the garage.

Spy's toothache was really quite horrid now, to the point where the pain came in waves with each beat of his heart, but he wanted to let Medic stew a little while longer, if only to enjoy the pleasant hint of red it would call into the doctor's cheeks later. He rubbed his jaw once more before retiring to his smoking room and awaiting the shift to evening, practicing with his lock picks in the event Medic wouldn't let him in. Somehow he had the feeling he had been defter with his mother's stolen hairpins than the company issued slivers of steel.

Once dinner time had rolled around and Spy had excused himself (the toothache was now abominable and Spy was more preoccupied with talking to Medic anyway), he headed down to the Infirmary. Now that he knew what to look for, it was easy to notice the red glow emanating from under the door in the Infirmary. This time, however, he knocked very noticeably upon the door and this time was granted a response:

"Come in."

Medic sounded tired. Not the same kind of sleepy, day-dream tired as he had the day before, but genuinely fatigued. It was the same kind of fatigue Spy heard in his own voice a day after he ran out of cigarettes.

Spy let himself in.

This time, Medic wasn't sprawled out carelessly over the sofa. He was sitting forwards with the Medi Gun in his hands and his elbows on his knees, looking both pensive and irritable. Spy wondered if he was responsible for both of those things. He shot Spy a withering look through the vapours of the medibeam and Spy took that as invitation enough to settle himself beside Medic on the sofa, neatly pinching the end of his cigarette out and saving it for later.

"I am sorry I snapped at you earlier."

"You have just as much reason to snap at me as everyone else; Scout, damn him, is right. If I had not been so careless earlier in the day, we may have won the fight."

"That is not what I meant...But I share Scout's sentiment."

Spy huffed a little laugh at that and settled back against the sofa. A minute passed in companionable silence before Spy spoke again.

"You did not answer my question, Docteur. From earlier."

Medic sighed and pushed his glasses out of the way to rub at his brow.

"There is no good reason for me to tell you that."

"Is my close and warm friendship with you not reason enough?" Spy said, with mock affront.

Medic's sharp look prompted a wolfish grin.

"As I was saying. There is no good reason to tell you, yet I feel like doing so anyway. Why is that?"

"I can be nothing other than my astounding charm, surely."

"Hmm. Well, I started doing...This," Medic said, gesturing vaguely to himself and the room and everything happening right then all at once, "about a week after we moved from Coldfront."

"Was there a reason, or did you just feel like doing it?"

Medic shrugged and leaned back. With each passing moment, the two became more comfortable and relaxed. The medibeam produced in minutes the kind of companionship that usually had to be nurtured over the course of years. Spy wished Medic relaxed his tight dress code a little more often; the loose tie and rolled up sleeves really suited him.

Medic didn't reply to that, but allowed Spy to take the Medi Gun from him and moan almost wantonly at the sheer pleasure not having a throbbing jaw gave him.

"Mon Dieu, but that's good."

Medic looked over at Spy sleepily, one knuckle pressed against his lips. His hair was mussed and Spy resisted the urge to tuck the dark locks back in place.

"You looked like you needed that."

"I did. The fucking Scout got me with his bat earlier and Respawn struggles with my cyanide molars."

"There really are better ways you know."

Spy set the Medi Gun down and looked at Medic, who was resting his head on the wall and closing his eyes. For want of being able to make eye contact, Spy stared at Medic's exposed (and shapely) neck instead.

"Better ways of what?"

"Of having cyanide molars, as it were. What would you do if the contents lost their potency? Chew off your tongue?"

"I hadn't considered that route, but I suppose if the situation necessitated it, I could."

"Yes, but it would be so...Time consuming. There are much lazier ways to kill oneself."

Spy wasn't sure he appreciated the turn of conversation, but he humoured the doctor anyway.

"You are not speaking from personal experience, I hope?"

"Not like that, no, but...I have had commissions before, to help others find appropriate means."

"Such as?"

Medic shrugged and made another vague gesture.

"Oh, say...Ocular flash bangs. Destroy the optical nerve" he said, tapping the side of his head with his fingers, "implants at the base of the neck, to sever the spinal cord. Constriction bands around the aorta, to choke the body of blood with the touch of a button..." His words trailed off after that and for a moment, Spy didn't notice he was crying quietly until the sofa began to shake.

His stomach knotted uncomfortably. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He was a Spy, he killed people! Not a..a councillor, or whatever it was that Medic appeared to need right now. The gangly and awkward young man Spy had worked hard over the years to leave behind resurfaced in only a few moments.

Regardless of his own discomfort, Spy pushed that to the side and did his best to appear like he knew what he was doing, first reaching down awkwardly to turn off the Medi Gun.  Medic was still crying softly, but now he'd pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, refusing to even acknowledge Spy until he firmly took hold of his wrist and pulled his hand away so Medic could see the intensity in his eyes. The only reason that was there, Spy assured himself, was so that Medic couldn't see that he was making this up as he went along. _Lie first with your eyes, then with your lips._

"I don't know why you are crying, Docteur, and to be quite frank I do not want to know. Not because I am cold and heartless, even though I may be both of those things, but because I am undoubtedly going to be ten times more afraid than you of something which can make an expert scientist and ruthless mercenary such as yourself shed a few tears."

It all came out in one long, tense speech and as soon as it had left his mouth, Spy was cursing himself for it. But, apparently, it helped, because Medic gently broke out of Spy's hold and sat forwards, allowing himself one graceless sniff before regaining composure.

"I...Thank you, Spy. For being cold and heartless, like that."

Spy made a sour face and decided to leave as soon as possible. He rose from the chair and retrieved his unfinished cigarette.

"I believe I was just quite the opposite" he growled, avoiding eye contact. He pounced on Medic like a hawk when he reached for the Medi Gun again and said from the doorway;

"And if I feel that you are going to touch that thing again tonight, you won't have need of any cyanide molars or such of your own because I will kill you myself. Whatever is ailing you is not something that Medi Gun will cure."

And again, tense and harsh. But Medic's reply was a glassy-eyed laugh and a poorly aimed swat on Spy's arm. Spy, flustered as he was, was oblivious to the flash of fear and guilt that rose in Medic's expression at that.

"Very well. I will obey Spy's orders and try to rest. Thank you, again."

"Hmm. Yes. Well. Bon nuit, Docteur."

"Good night, Spy."

As Spy rushed from the Infirmary, he inhaled the last of his cigarette in one hurried, shaking breath.

_What on earth have I gotten myself into?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Apologies if Medic's behaviour here might be a bit ooc for some of you. I can only promise that I am going somewhere with this angst in terms of backstory, and I'm trying very hard not to use it as a plot device to get Spy to just give the man a hug already or something. Or probably a slap to try and get Medic talking sense again-let's be real here, that's a lot more "Spy" I think.
> 
> As always, comments and constructive critiscism are both welcome and appreciated!
> 
> ~Leon


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some...Gentle persuasion, Spy finally convinces Medic to open up about what's on his mind.

Spy lay awake in bed for most of the night. His heart and stomach both still jittered uncomfortably at the unfamiliar ground he'd been forced into. Things were undoubtedly going to be awkward in the morning. When he finally fell into a fitful sleep, he had nightmares of walking into Medic's lounge and finding him sprawled on the sofa, froth at the edges of his mouth and the Medi Gun humming uselessly in his lap.

He woke with a violent gasp, cold sweat dotting his chest. The room felt too small, all of a sudden, so he threw on some clothes (not a suit; still too early) and snapped his invisiwatch around his wrist.

The base was eerie and empty. Quiet draughts moaned through the halls and the tiles of the floor were cool against Spy's bare feet. He wandered around aimlessly for a while before he found himself drifting down to the Infirmary. When he tried the doors, he found them locked. A glance through the window told him that all of the Medi Guns were accounted for on their charging pads and the lounge door was closed and unlit. Moonlight poured through the high windows, sending white shafts across the gleaming stainless steel and white tile of the room.

Spy shivered.

He shook his head to himself and asked himself what else he'd been expecting. He considered checking in at Medic's room, on the floor above, but decided against it. The nightmare which had seemed so vivid a few moments ago was now fading away, dissipating like the wisps of Medi gun vapour in the wind. Spy checked his watch.

3:56 AM.

He'd had to be up at five to start getting ready for work, so he decided to just stay up. He paid a visit to the laundry room to find some clean socks and ended up wandering outside, shivering slightly in the cool air. The BLU base looked just as abandoned as his own. Spy fantasised briefly about sneaking over, planting knives in the backs of everyone whilst they slept so the war would finally be over and he could return to the green hills of France. He missed them more than he had expected.

But that was probably against contract and Spy didn't fancy whatever capital punishment came with breaking the conditions of his employment, so he turned away and looked instead to the sky. It was cut right through with a streak of bright white, hundreds of thousands of stars collaborating to bathe the earth below with a faint silver glow. Spy decided that next time Medic was upset, he'd drag him outside and get him to look at the stars until he wasn't anymore.

When Spy was younger and the only suit he'd owned had been the ill-fitting second hand affair he was roped into every Sunday for church, he'd cried a lot more than he had now. He was smaller and bonier than the other boys of his neighbourhood and they hated him for it. That was before he had learned how to fight back. The stars, at least, hadn't mocked him or pinched him, only smiled down from above and tousled his hair with that same silver light as they cast now. In the clear mountain air of the Pyrenees, there had been nothing to block or obscure that healing light. The last place Spy had expected to find it again was in the middle of New Mexico, a few hundred feet away from enemies he knew like the backs of his hands and even closer to a German doctor who made him ask himself all sorts of difficult questions.

Spy leant on the cold metal of the staircase railings when that thought crossed his mind. Difficult questions, or just ones he wasn't willing to answer? How strange that this man should demand so many of his thoughts, even though Spy didn't know his name. Down below, a lean figure slowly crossed the sandy expanse of the courtyard. The dim floodlights did little to illuminate him, but Spy had a fairly good idea of who it was. There was, after all, only one man on the team who wore a hat like that.

_What are you doing out so early, Mr Mundy?_

He watched from his vantage point as Sniper shoved his hands in his pockets and lifted his head to look at the stars too...Until the wind blew his hat off and he had to chase it at an awkward half-jog across the courtyard. The faint cursing reached Spy's ears and he sniggered to himself. He considered going down to poke fun at the Australian, but decided against it. He wasn't wearing his mask and there would undoubtedly be odd looks exchanged between two men wandering around in the middle of the night.

Sniper's mishap had eased Spy out of the introspective thoughts he'd been slipping into and consequently he was feeling tired again, so he returned to his room to snatch another hour of sleep.

* * *

Soldier's bugle jolted Spy out of considerably more pleasant dreams (he didn't remember what, exactly, but they must've been pretty good because he was standing to attention under the sheets) and into wakefulness. He groaned and hobbled awkwardly over to the mirror in his bathroom, scowling as he shaved. Medic, on the other side of the base, was dealing with exactly the same predicament, but when he went into the Infirmary to collect some paperwork, the sight of the Medi Guns charging reminded him of everything that had transpired the night before. He was aware of how he had dealt with his own morning glory that day and once the connection was made, Medic cursed under his breath. Spy's face hadn't been the one that came to mind when he had been tugging quickly on his cock and leaning with weak knees against the bathroom door. He wondered, however, if that would ever become the case.

He growled under his breath as he searched for the files, deciding that it would probably be best to explain the overhealing to Spy before things got out of hand.

At least, he had intended to, until Soldier burst in with half of his hand missing.

By the time the story had been extracted (raccoons and tin openers featured heavily) and the amputated fingers bandaged up and cauterized with the Medi Gun, the base was a hive of activity and Spy was nowhere to be found, having already driven with Sniper to the battlegrounds. Damnit all, he'd just have to hope Spy came and found him later.

And he did.

But only because the BLU Scout had caught him uncloaked and blasted him with his scattergun. Medic cursed and got Heavy to cover him as he sprinted to Spy's side, easing him down to the ground and swiftly unbuttoning his suit jacket and the dress shirt underneath.

He showed Spy how to compress the muscle and slow the bleeding and had him bite on a balled up bandage to muffle his cries as Medic went in with forceps to try and pick out as much of the buckshot as he could. Gradually, battle moved away as BLU sought to defend their intelligence and RED pursued. Heavy scanned the area coolly and carefully, ready to defend Medic if the need arose.

In spite of what had transpired between them over the last few days, Medic was able to set that aside and be the professional he needed to be, impassive and guarded as he nimbly dug each little pellet out of Spy's belly. He noted absently that Spy did not shave that little trail of hair beneath his navel; for whatever reason, Medic had imagined that he did.

"You would...Tell someone...If anything...Was wrong, wouldn't you?" Spy said faintly between pained breaths. Medic looked up and met the pained blue look with his own impenetrable gaze.

"Perhaps. There's a lot wrong with all of us, these days." he said simply, before removing another pellet and feeling Spy's muscles spasm around the forceps. He felt Spy's eyes on him as he bent his head again, but ignored his look. The words, however, were a little more difficult to block out.

"But...You would know...If there was something wrong...With you...Yes?"

"Yes. I have found ways to cope."

So there _was_ something wrong?

"The Medi Gun...Will not fix...Everything."

"No, it doesn't. But it does provide pain relief, of sorts."

Spy snorted at that and shifted a little against the stack of crates they were hiding behind.

"It provides a crutch, Docteur....You would...Have to be a fool to see it...As anything else."

Ah. There was the cold-heartedness from before. Medic ensured he wasn't gentle when he all but wrenched the next piece of buckshot from Spy's flesh. The pained cry he gave in response fuelled Medic's spite.

"You said yourself that you are cold and heartless. Why do you suddenly care so much?"

He could practically hear Spy grind his teeth even as he went to wipe the wounds with alcohol and direct a brief spurt of Medi Gun vapour at them. What expertly crafted lie would come from his lips, bespoke to Medic alone?

What Spy said haunted Medic's thoughts for much of the day later.

"I have been asking myself that very same question." Spy replied eventually. That had Medic turn around from his first aid kit, but when he looked back, the Medi Gun was healing nothing but an empty patch of sand and a fallen cigarette end, still smoking.

* * *

The battle ended up being a draw in the end and both cases of intelligence were made void. It wasn't perfect, but at least it wasn't losing again.

Medic was feeling jittery and irritable the whole drive back to base. He could see Spy sitting in the cab of the pick up in front of him and he glared daggers at the other man's head for the entirety of the drive. When they reached base, he hauled his Medi Gun up under his arm and unceremoniously hurled the first aid bag at Spy. He wasn't sure why he was so angry, aside from the fact he hadn't been able to dope up on overheal yet, but that didn't matter. He was sure Spy would play with his fiery temper whatever the reasons were. Real drama in the base was difficult to come by (the frequent scuffles in the mess hall didn't count) and the other man was certain not to miss anything interesting. _Heaven forbid if he thinks he's missing a little blackmail material_.

That had undoubtedly been why he had been poking around in the cabinets that first time they shared the Medi Gun.

Medic fumed. That was undoubtedly better than any of the private journals he kept locked in the desk. Of course Spy didn't care! He was only pretending to for his own gain. Just like _she_ had done.

The air between them practically crackled with everything that remained unsaid between the two of them. Engineer had to haul Scout back by the back of his shirt to stop him from cracking a joke. Now was most definitely not the time.

"Would you please help me with my equipment, Spy." It was a statement, not a question. Spy seethed for a moment, before changing his expression to something which could only be described as venomously serpentine. If Medic wanted a pissing match, he'd give it to him.

"Why of course, Docteur. Care to lead the way?"

They both stalked into base and Engineer watched them go, hoping that respawn would stay on for another hour for both their sakes.

As soon as the Infirmary doors flapped closed and they had both ditched their loads, sparks flew. Medic strode up to Spy and pointed a trembling finger in his face. He had a system in place now, and it worked and all because of some  nosy _Frenchman_ , it was all falling apart again.

"You just don't understand, do you?"

"I understand that you're finding excuses to feed an addiction."

"It's not an addiction!"

"Yet."

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't send you out of this Infirmary in a _body bag_!"

Spy smirked and roughly batted Medic's hand away, ignoring the enraged hiss that earned. To add insult to injury, he had the nerve to light up in the Infirmary as well and coolly blow a lungful of smoke into Medic's red face.

"Because it would get blood all over your lovely uniform, and we _both_ know how much you _love_ to keep up appearances."

"Says the man who wears a ski mask even though it isn't in his dress code!"

Spy made a sour face and pulled another breath of smoke in, this time letting it trickle from his nostrils, dragon-like.

"You don't know that." he replied somewhat weakly. Medic's eyes glinted as a devilish grin swept onto his face.

"I do now, _connard_."

The insult came unexpectedly and the sound of French coming from Medic sounded so wrong in so many ways, but there was no denying that the anger in his voice suited the required purr of silent consonants perfectly. The indignant anger, knotted worry and jittery frustration in Spy's belly were joined by a more colourful and seductive sensation. _Damn it all, but swears sound so sweet from his mouth_. Spy huffed elegantly, trying to hide his increasing unease, turning his face to the side. _So you want to play rough, docteur?_

"Well at least I am not the one crying like a little girl over old memories. What are you trying to run away from, Docteur?"

Medic's backhand was swift and in his opinion, deserved.

It came out of nowhere, and shocked Spy more than it hurt him. He watched his cigarette smoulder on the tiles before slowly turning and meeting Medic's eyes. They were like chips of glass.

Infuriated and confused and just down-right frustrated, Spy scowled and firmly tugged his jacket back into place, before pulling back and socking Medic neatly, precisely, in the gut. Hell, everything was already going downhill, why not help things along?

All of a sudden, the fight was on. Spy was usually an excellent fist-fighter, his lack of heavy weaponry necessitated it, but right then he was just angry and more concerned with expressing that fact than doing any real damage. So it ended up that they were both kicking and spitting like animals, knocking things over with loud clatters and scratching and biting without really caring for their actions at all. Spy was absurdly struck with the vivid scent of Medic's cologne and thanks to the distraction that that provided, Medic managed to drag his blunt nails across Spy's face and tug his mask askew, blinding him briefly and giving Medic the opportunity to backhand him sharply. Spy countered with a knee to Medic's belly and he fell back heavily. Spy scrambled backwards, struggling to find purchase on the smooth tile, coming up against the wall. Medic glared at him from across the gap, chest heaving. Blood trickled gently from his nose, spreading in a bloom on his starched collar where it landed, drop by crimson drop. Spy wondered how the copper in Medic's blood would compete with the scent of his aftershave.

For a few moments, all they did was stare, waiting to see if the other would start it all again.

And then Medic laughed.

It started out as a low, breathless chuckle, quickly becoming howling, deranged laughter that rang off the walls and had the blood from his nose flowing into the creases of his smile. It was the kind of laugh Spy had never heard from him before, both genuinely entertained and hopeless lost. Tears sprang in the corners of his eyes and it was just _so damn weird_ that Spy couldn't help but return the sentiment, snorts punctuating his laughter now and again.

"What...What the hell is wrong with me!" He wheezed, still cackling madly.

Spy shakily reached up to straighten his mask, struggling due to his laughter.

"You-ask the...Wrong man, doctor!"

That made Medic snigger even harder and he curled up, trying vainly to hide his amusement. Spy licked his lips and found that they stung; a hesitant touch found a narrow gash on his upper lip, opened no doubt by Medic's slap earlier.

Still laughing, Spy shakily got to his feet and crossed over to the Medi Gun, fumbling around with the switch to one and ungracefully sticking his head in front of the nozzle to steal a heal. Gradually, Medic's laughter faded away and silence took over the Infirmary again. Medic was a bastard and he was also fucking crazy, but Spy knew he'd given him one hell of a nosebleed and probably some decent bruises. That deserved some attempt at decorum on his part, at least. So he awkwardly gathered up the Medi Gun in his arms and dumped it on one of the steel examination tables with a clang.

"If you're quite done, _docteur_ , I think your nose might need a little attention."

Nothing.

That sick, twisty feeling settled in Spy's gut. _Oh god, please, not again. I didn't mean any of what I said-_

But after a moment, Medic's hand reached up and he waved for the Medi Gun. Spy doubtfully put the nozzle in his hand and listened to the grateful sigh as the menthol vapours worked their magic. After thirty seconds or so, Medic unsteadily got to his feet and with a look of disappointment, set down the Medi Gun nozzle and tried in vain to dab the blood off of his collar.

The air between them had lost that crackle now and Spy realised he was in danger of either losing the acquaintance of a man he respected, or getting entangled in something a great deal more complex. He doubted there was a neutral middle ground anymore. Medic looked down at the Medi Gun in deep thought, running an end of the electrical tape wrapped around the nozzle through his fingers.

"What you said on the battlefield today...I want you to know that I have taken it to heart. I will not unload all of my burdens onto you, however."

"Is that why you have become so close to this?" Spy asked quietly, tapping the casing of the pack part of the Medi Gun.

"Ja. Like I said, it is not a solution so much as...Something to help me look for a solution."

"Pain relief." Spy quoted.

A wry smile tugged Medic's lips as he glanced up. "Or a crutch."

"It was a poor comparison to make. You cannot expect a man with a broken leg to walk unaided. Not until he is healed, at least."

Medic sighed heavily at that and Spy considered walking away. It would be so easy to do that now, and maintain the fragile rapport between them. Medic's problems were his own and as Administration would say, not really a problem unless they affected how he performed on the field. But instead, Spy focused on the droplets of blood staining Medic's collar, choosing his words carefully before he made eye contact.

"I...Would not be opposed to carrying a few of your burdens, Docteur. Not if it would help you to let go of your cane, so to speak."

The tone of his voice was a carefully weighted blend of concern and professional detachment. It was a voice Medic often strived (and failed) to use around his patients. How amusing it was, that Spy's bedside manner was better than his own.

"Thank you, Spy. But I think I can speak for both of us when I say that I do not believe tonight is the night to delve into such things. Your punches are quite winding, and I have no breath left for telling stories."

"...If that is what you wish. And...I shall take that as a compliment." Spy murmured, before politely excusing himself and leaving the Infirmary quietly.

Medic watched him go and considered the Medi Gun before him with a scowl. He could do without the embrace of the vapours for one night, at least. Besides, there were some files on a certain Frenchman he wanted to look at, and he couldn't bring the Medi Gun down to the Intelligence room. He also decided that it was time to retrieve his own files. He'd need them, if Spy truly wanted to know what was ailing him. There were important names there, aside from the two belonging to him.

In the cool light of the Infirmary, Medic sighed heavily as he pulled off his rubber battle gloves. He looked carefully at the back of his left hand, rubbed tentatively at a band of pale skin around his ring finger.

Then he snorted bitterly to himself and tossed the gloves aside before heading down the corridor to the Intelligence room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Kinda struggling for impetus here, guys. Can't gurantee when exactly chapter four is coming, other than it will. I'm pretty much plotting this as I go along and whilst writing Medic upset is easy, writing what he's upset ABOUT is not. Still looking for beta readers for this to try and help me settle on some backstory here. Message me here or on Tumblr if you're interested in helping out.
> 
> ~Leon


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy learns what's been gnawing at Medic for so long. The story, however, is totally different to what he was expecting and in so many ways, much, much worse.
> 
> (Content warnings for mentions of mental illness, sanatoriums and dissociation.)

The next day was Friday, and the fighting between two groups of men tired of the beating sun and eager for the weekend was about as unexciting as one might imagine. Spy made a few lazy revolver kills and sapped a few sentries, but mostly he stayed out of the way and thought about things. As expected, he felt considerably more...Entangled with whatever was going on with Medic than he had before. But people told him it was good and healthy to feel concerned for one's friends. Spy'd never had many of those and he was uncertain as to whether Medic should be included on that short list. He stamped out his cigarette as he headed back down the fire escape stairs, glancing up at the clear cloudless sky as he did so. He had to trust that the unseen stars had his back for a few hours more and then he'd be done.

Medic, on the other hand, was on top form. He answered all the calls for help, delivered more successful Über Charges than he had during the rest of the week put together and came top of the leader board that day, second only to Soldier. The rest of the team noticed his sudden burst of energy and curiosity deepened. Scout, perched atop a stack of crates and within range of a dispenser, watched Medic's coat flash across the field with a scowl.

"Hey, Engie, " he said after a moment, blowing a bubble of gum and swinging his feet, "tell me I ain't the only one noticing the Doc's got about thirty years younger."

Engineer chuckled and sat back on his heels from where he'd been tinkering with one of the sentries.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Scout made a face and looked back at where Medic had rushed past a moment ago.

"Hell, it could be. Maybe it's cause he's got some psycho experiment goin' on and It's givin' him all this energy" Scout theorized, hushing his voice to a stage whisper and miming sneaking around for effect.

"I can't tell you for certain if you're wrong, pardner, but I don't think that's it."

"Huh? What makes you say that?"

Engineer pushed his hat back and leaned on the sentry easily.

"Well, think about it this way. If there was some crazy experiment goin' on, dont'cha think we'd have heard about it by now? Medic don't exactly keep his research quiet, when he really gets into it."

"Yeah...But...Maybe he's figured out how to wipe our memories this time or something. Maybe-Maybe he's makin' us kiss each other and then makin' us forget about it or something!"

Engineer guffawed heavily at Scout's dead serious tone of dread.

"I don't think so, Scout. Besides, I've seen the way you look at Slim-maybe that's just what you're hopin' is going on." he finished slyly.

Scout, fuming, carelessly pitched a baseball which Engineer ducked under easily, still laughing.

"You think I want anythin' to with the Australian? God, you Texans are sick fucks."

But Engineer couldn't take offense at that, because Scout sounded a little as though he doubted that sentiment himself. Whatever had Medic feeling so energetic surely couldn't be as bad as Scout was making it out to be.

* * *

 

The battle resulted in a much needed win and  moral was high as the team headed back to base. Medic cautiously ingratiated himself with Engineer and was allowed to share the cab on the drive back to base. If Spy was surprised by that, he didn't show it, only making polite small talk with Engineer with regards to a modification for his sappers. Spy was more about literature and theatre, but he knew the sappers inside out and soon the two men were absorbed in conversation that went right over Medic's head. He gratefully seized the opportunity to zone out and try to sort out some things.

The Intelligence room had been just as dusty and dim as he remembered. He was careful not to interfere with the server computers in there-the orientation day had informed him those computers were where his limited sense of immortality came from. The tall filing cabinets, however, were not off limits. Spy undoubtedly rooted through their team's files all the time, but Medic felt like he was intruding when looking at them. It was one thing to accidentally-on-purpose leave animal organs inside someone's chest cavity, another entirely to read about someone's family, loved ones, crimes and secrets. Medic knew that his own file was not the most pleasant reading.

His own file was also currently boring a hole through the bottom of his desk drawer. It was only a folder filled with paper, but in his hands it felt like it was lined with lead. He felt considerably more put together than he had for a long time and he hoped that he wouldn't have to rely on the Medi Gun for comfort anymore if Spy truly cared to listen to what he had to say.

When they reached base, Spy neatly excused himself and helped Medic to carry his first aid kit back to the Infirmary. Spy noted that Medic was deep in thought on the way, but decided not to ask. He worried that somehow he was pressuring Medic into talking about something he didn't want to, but the thought of him spending hours in front of that Medibeam at a time was more worrying.

Once the kit was stowed away and Medic's Medi-Gun charging alongside the others, Spy was invited into the little office the adjoined the Infirmary. He'd never been in there before and he wasn't sure what he was expecting, but the comfortable furnishings and well-organised desk weren't it. Bookshelves lined the walls; tomes in English and German both, as well as a little Russian literature. Spy noted with dry amusement the framed certificate hung on the wall behind Medic's desk.

"Heavy told me that you had lost your medical license."

"Oh, I did." Medic replied casually as he leant down to unlock his desk drawer. "I just keep that around as a memento."

Spy read the credentials on the certificate with interest. Medic's names had been blacked out neatly, presumably by Administration to preserve confidentiality, but his qualifications were impressive. PhDs in Biomedicine, Cardiology and Osteopathy. The date of award was also blacked out. What had happened, Spy wondered, for such a bright future to have dissolved to the extent where Medic had lost his licence?

Spy's gaze was broken away from the gilt-edged certificate when Medic straightened up again, a manila folder in his hands. A single word was printed in block letters in the top right corner. A title, and it wasn't his. Confusion settled on Spy's features as Medic dropped the file to his desk with a soft thump.

"Your files."

"Ja. I want you to read them."

Spy sniffed delicately and resisted the urge to leap across the table and sock Medic in the stomach again. When he'd said about catharsis and taking on some of his burdens, this had not been what he'd meant. It was something though and Spy resisted the urge to growl in frustration. Minute progress was better than none, surely?

"And what makes you think I have not already read them?" He returned nonchalantly. A wry smile crossed Medic's face as he slid the file across the desk.

"Because if you had, you would likely not be worried about my feeling the need to overheal."

The pendulum clock hung on the wall beside the windows ticked steadily. Spy regarded the file on the desk with some trepidation. There, sitting square in the middle of a beam of sunlight slicing through the blinds, it looked considerably more innocent than he was beginning to think it truly was. It didn't look especially thick either; not bulging with legal reports or century-old schematics as Soldier's and Engineer's files were. Whatever meagre story was incarcerated in that file, Spy realised it would have to be a pretty intense one. His stomach dropped as another thought occurred to him.

Maybe, perhaps, as intense as his own.

That was the deal breaker for Spy, but he refused to drop his airs of professional detachment now. What had started as mild concern was quickly growing into a cancerous ball of worry in his stomach. He was having nightmares about this man, for God's sake, the least he could do was try to understand why.

"Fine." He said simply. "I will read your files. I take it there is nothing in here you expect me to stay away from?"

"Do you think I would be letting you read my recruitment files if I still felt I had things to hide?"

The dry amusement in Medic's voice had Spy's face twist slightly in disapproval. He'd walked into that one, he supposed. Before he could make things any more awkward in what was, for Medic, the first time he'd voluntarily made himself vulnerable in a while, Spy tucked the file into his jacket and said nothing more on the matter. As soon as the manila was settled against the silk lining of his jacket, he felt as though he was carrying burning embers in his pocket. Dangerous, but only if he was careless with them.

"I suppose not. Good day, Docteur."

"And you, Spy."

The corridors were largely deserted as Spy crossed the base on the way to his smoking room. He was so caught up in thinking about Medic, and what on earth in his file could be so complicated it would just be easier to read than explain, when he nearly ran headfirst into Engineer as he exited the mess hall. In avoiding the collision, however, the plate of food Engineer had been carrying went up in the air. Spy, agile as a cat, managed to catch the plate before it could turn upside down midair and cover them both with ketchup and chicken wings.

"Whoa, heck, spook, watch where y'going!"

"Apologies." Spy muttered, returning the offered plate.

Engineer took it, but not before giving Spy a long, searching look which he struggled not to squirm under.

"Is there...Something goin' on with you, Spy? You've been awful...Strange, lately."

Shit. How the hell had Medic managed to get to him this bad-

Spy retreated into indignant offense and drew himself up to his full height, lording those extra 4 inches over Engineer with all the authority he could muster. Like all short people, however, Engineer refused to let himself be cowed, easily puffing up his chest to try and match Spy's height. They shared a brief stare before Spy spoke again.

"And? It is in my job description to be mysterious and to behave unpredictably."

Engineer looked for a moment as though he wanted to argue back, but then a warm grin spread over his face and he waved Spy off, glower and all.

"Heck, s'pose you're right. Just s'long as you make sure you stay better at it than the other guy. It's been a while since we had to get outta bed at three in the mornin' cause of that BLU bastard, and I'd like to keep it that way."

That, thankfully, was the end of it. Somehow Spy had managed to keep the files tucked against his shirt and Medic's secrets were still safe. Once Spy was inside the smoking room and he had locked the door, he leaned back and let out an audible but quiet sigh. The file was quickly deposited on an end table beside his armchair.

As he set a fire in the hearth and poured himself a shot of amber liquor, he felt all the tension and unease that had settled on him in Medic's office melt away. Then he glanced back at the file. Somehow it managed to accuse him of not being able to understand, even from across the room.

" _Il est juste un fichier putain , René ._ _Calmez-vous."_ he muttered to himself.

 He had a nip of the liquor even before he had settled himself in the chair and pulled the file onto his lap. Another to steel himself, and then he flipped the file open and began to read.

 Like all their files, Medic's was faced by a basic biography page. Height, weight, names and so forth. Spy had also burned his along with his photographs that same week after joining RED.

  _Name: Baumann, Christoffer_

_Medical Conditions: DID, astigmatism. Childhood history of intense migraines and social anxiety._

_Age: 49_

_Country of Origin: Germany_

_Race: Caucasian_

_Mother: Irmgard Baumann (DECEASED)_

_Father: Arnold Baumann (UNKNOWN)_

_Spouse: Celeste Baumann (SEE INCIDENT REPORT #319)_

_Height: 6'0"_

And so on. Spy read each line carefully, even though there was one which interested him more than anything else. The fire crackled in the silence of the room as Spy stared at that particular line. Reading it again revealed no additional realisations.

_Spouse: Celeste Baumann_

Spy realised he had never really noticed Medic's hands before. They were either covered with the heavy red gloves he wore to battle, or with the thin latex kind he wore in the Infirmary when carrying out examinations. He had been wearing neither in the lounge, but it had been so dark in there for Spy to have been able to see the key detail that would've given Medic's marriage away. In the office, however, the light had been bright, and Medic hadn't worn his gloves. There, sharply in Spy's memory, was the shape of the surgeon's hands, and the pale band of skin around the base of his ring finger.

For whatever reason, regardless of the fact that he had yet to read the rest of the file, that fact stood out to him. At some point in time, Medic had been married- still was, for all intents and purposes. Presumably, there had been a woman who had loved him deeply, and whom he had loved deeply in return. They must've had a house together, dreams for the future. Hell, maybe they'd even talked about starting a family.

Maybe Medic already had a family.

As each thought cropped up in Spy's mind, he felt a tense sort of anger coil in his stomach. Not strong, or insistent, but there, now smouldering steadily like the banked fire in the hearth. It'd been a while before he felt jealousy like that.

It wasn't fair.

A dishonoured, morally-questionable German had succeeded where Spy had failed. For all his charm and grace, Spy had never been able to settle down as Medic had. He had reconciled with himself over that some time ago; that his career would always rule his life, even when he finally retired. There would always be too many men wanting to hit that target painted on his back for him to be able to just stop running and fall in love. He wanted to, desperately, and it was the sort of secret he'd take to his grave.

Spy, the merciless killer and womaniser, who dreamed of the white picket fence and two kids ideal.

The fire didn't reply when he snorted bitterly at that.

But, then again, perhaps Medic hadn't had it so good as all that.

_Spouse: Celeste Baumann (SEE INCIDENT REPORT #319)_

_INCIDENT_

Those letters stood out far too coldly for Spy's liking. He could practically see the police files this woman's name would be etched on. For the first time, Spy began to have an inkling of why Medic wanted to forget his past. Only one page into his file, and he'd already learned that something horrendous had happened to the one thing which mattered most in Medic's life. The way he'd spoken about his file, however, implied that was not the worst of what it had to offer.

The word made him shiver.

_INCIDENT._

Cold and harsh. Clinical and detached. The tragedy of an innocent soul, pecked out in eight strokes of a typewriter. He stared at it for a while, and the word stared back. Snippets of previous encounters with the doctor on their team floated into Spy's stream of thought.

_INCIDENT._

_"...Pain relief..."_

_"... Better ways...Cyanide molars..."_

_"- Cold and heartless-"_

_"I have found ways to cope-"_

_"- You just don't understand-"_

_"-Old memories..."_

As the recollections flooded faster and faster into Spy's mind, he was assaulted by images that came attached to them. Medic, looking drowsy and strung out. Tears being drunk greedily by the starched cotton of his shirt collar. The vicious desert sun blinding him as it flashed off Medic's glasses (that came with a memory of the sensation of gloved hands being pressed against his stomach, blood making the contact slick and hot.). Medic, again, this time red in the face and livid, trembling with rage. The white and silver blur the Infirmary became after that first slap, before they fought rabidly on the floor.

Everything somehow came spinning back to Medic. Spy tried to take a sip of liquor to steady himself, but when the scent of the alcohol assaulted his nose, all he was reminded of was the crisp scent of Medic's cologne as he'd hauled him up by his collar to backhand him again. The memory of that slap startled Spy back into reality, and suddenly he was alone in the smoking room again, the glass of liquor only halfway to his lips. Through the amber liquid, that word printed on Medic's biography page sniggered back at him, warped and distorted.

_INCIDENT_

Deciding that he wanted a second opinion, Spy quickly shut the file, downed the rest of his liquor in one fiery gulp and left the smoking room, locking the door behind him.

It was time to have a little chat with Administration.

* * *

Unfortunately, the phone call with Administration didn't go as planned. When asked if it was an emergency and finding himself stuttering over the line, he was firmly reprimanded and hung up on.

There was, however, one thing that was almost as good as being able to talk to the Administrator.

The ringtone was different in his ear as the data banks hummed quietly behind him. The Intelligence room was dark and somewhat dusty; the excellent place to make a call to arrange a secret meeting and discuss...Well, secrets.

Miss Pauling picked up on the second ring.

"Team Fortress Industries, what's the problem."

"I'd like to discuss the nature of our contracts."

No point in mincing words. Spy heard her tired sigh, and pictured the way she was undoubtedly pinching the slender bridge of her nose.

"Look, Spy, whatever you're concerned about, it's too late to re-negotiate now-"

"I don't want to negotiate a new contract" he said patiently. "I simply want to discuss the contract. Preferably face to face."

Another sigh and a beat of silence.

"Why?"

Spy rolled his eyes and switched the phone to his other shoulder so he could take a drag from his cigarette.

"Agree on a time and place and I'll tell you."

Another silence, this time thick with frustration and the frantic working of an overstretched mind.

"You're too damn good at your job, Spy."

He chuckled and removed the cigarette from between his lips.

"Tell Administration that and get me a pay rise then."

"No chance." there was laughter in her voice now. He'd always got on well with Miss Pauling, there was a lot they could relate on and unlike Scout, he knew how to maintain a strictly professional relationship.

His small smile flickered when Medic came to mind with that thought.

"Can you make tonight?"

"Gosh, Spy, what's going on down there? Has Scout stolen your Ferrari again or something-"

"Non, non. Nothing like that." He paused before showing a glimpse of his hand. "It's about another team mate. I...Have a few questions."

"Can't you ask him?"

"Non. I believe he would particularly cagey about this matter."

She huffed and he heard the sound of a car starting in the background.

"Ok. Ok. You're lucky I'm in town today, Spy. I'll be there in a couple of hours."

"Excellent."

She ended the call and Spy returned the phone to the hook. He stirred the ashes he'd scattered on the floor with the toe of his shoe, took another drag of his cigarette.

Yes, there were some questions which Medic couldn't answer.

* * *

The sun was starting to set when Miss Pauling's little purple truck clattered into the courtyard and trundled to a halt. Spy watched over the glowing end of his cigarette as Miss Pauling exited the truck, pushing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. Files were tucked up under her arm and he could see the outline of a pistol concealed in her shirtwaist. He resisted the urge to smile. Another time and place, and perhaps they could have had a little fun together.

But not today.

"So. Spy. What did you want to talk about?"

He exhaled his lungful of smoke and walked over. Gravel crunched quietly under his shoes and he arranged some potential sentences in his mind for later.

"Medic."

Her green eyes widened in surprise before she cleared her throat and settled the stack of files better on her hip.

"What about him?"

"There was...A conversation we had a little while ago, and something he said made me wonder about the terms of his employment."

Her face closed off instantly.

"I can't breach that kind of confidentiality, Spy-"

He hushed her with a little motion of his hand.

"Non. That's not what I mean. I want to know if his file is...Falsified in any way."

Sparks lit in her eyes and her lips twisted into a frown.

"You better not have been digging around again, Spy."

"Of course not." he replied innocently. "So far as I know, Medic is the one who has been doing all of the digging. Only into his own files, I understand. There can be no harm in that, surely?"

"Well...I suppose not..."

"Excellent. Then you can tell me if they are truthful or not."

"There's no reason to falsify that kind of paperwork. Black out a few names and places, maybe, but any alterations you think might've been made are his own. Or yours, of course."

Spy sniffed and inhaled another breath of smoke.

"Very well. To change the topic, can you remind me what the company policy on hiring mentally unsound employees is again?"

Miss Pauling's face was all caution and steely stubbornness now.

"You've seen Pyro," she replied cagily after a moment, "what do you think?"

Spy studied the end of his cigarette quite innocently.

"I think that the Pyro shouldn't be used as a yardstick."

"Team Fortress Industries can and will hire mentally unstable and/or questionably sane mercenaries-"

"-Provided that they can bring useful skills to the field and not prove a danger to their teammates or a threat to company confidentiality. Yes, I remember now."

Miss Pauling shook her head to clear her mind and glanced at her watch.

"What does this have to with Medic again?"

Spy suddenly crushed the cigarette end under his heel and put his hands in his pockets. She'd learnt after a while that was his politely impolite way of telling someone he was done talking to them.

"Absolutely nothing. Thank you for laying to rest my worries, however."

"No problem." She replied tonelessly, sensing that was all the explanation she was going to get."Well, you've got my number. Call if you've got any more, ah, problems."

"Certainly."

He watched the little purple truck leave in a cloud of red dust and sputtering exhaust. So he had been right. Honestly, looking at Soldier and Pyro had been all the confirmation that he needed, but at least now he knew that anything he read in Medic's file was true.

And that any tragedies recorded there were honest renditions.

* * *

The smoking room was as still and warm as it had been when he left it. By now, his abdomen was cramped with worry and fear for what else Medic's file had to offer. His breath was shallow and quick as he forced himself to open the file again and flip to the incident report mentioned in the first page.

As he had expected, it didn't make for light or easy reading. More questions were raised than answered.

_Please note subject's conditions as mentioned previously. This report focuses on an incident apparently incited by the subject's alter personality, whom has been referred to on multiple occasions by Mr Baumann and other sources as "the second opinion."_

_On the 14th of December, [REDACTED], Mr. Baumann experienced an episode in which the "second opinion" took over his state of consciousness and implanted [REDCATED] into Celeste Baumann's [REDACTED]. Please note that this technology has never been produced before, and in spite of detailed explanation from Mr Baumann, even our best engineers have been unable to replicate it. the "second opinion" then proceeded to torture Celeste Baumann for [REDACTED] hours, until the implanted object was triggered, apparently at her will, effectively [REDACTED] her [REDACTED]. Had the implant functioned properly, Celeste Baumann would have died instantaneously. Both engineers and Mr Baumann theorise the implant was intended as a suicide system, though due to the conditions under which it was developed, neither party can be certain. Upon failed detonation, however, Mr Baumann's dissociative episode ended and he claims that he has no memory of implanting the device into her body which mutilated her so horribly, even though all evidence claimed otherwise. Mr Baumann then rang the police, in an unstable state of mind, before realising the potential consequences of those actions. He then ended the call and fled the scene, attempting to flee Germany by [REDACTED]. Agents discovered him in the village of [REDACTED] roughly [REDACTED] days later. After the incident, Mr Baumann experienced a series of failures to maintain executive control functions, effectively struggling with "the second opinion" for rights to control his body. Between the time of Mr Baumann fleeing the scene of Celeste's torture and our agents discovering him [REDACTED] days later, [REDACTED] people had been killed and an additional [REDACTED] found in varying states of consciousness, heavily mutilated and traumatised. In all cases, including that of Celeste herself, Grade A amnesiacs were applied (see Case Report 0X941D for further details). The police, having received a partial call, were able to run an incomplete phone trace and forces and paramedics arrived at the Baumann household at roughly [REDACTED], [REDACTED] hours after Mr Baumann had fled the scene. Celeste was immediately hospitalised and after [REDACTED] days in Intensive Care, she began to recover from her extensive injuries._

_Once Mr Baumann's injuries and dehydration had been treated by the agent who discovered him, he regained consciousness and appeared to argue with "the second opinion" as to whether or not they should "tell these people what had happened." An entire transcription of this dialogue can be read in Incident Report #317-A, enclosed._

_After three and a half minutes of observation, medical technicians decided that Mr Baumann was in danger of injuring himself and he was sedated. Via administering of a combination of osozetylene, [REDACTED], [REDACTED] and Valeryrian root extract, medical technicians were able to keep Mr Baumann conscious without allowing his alter personality the ability to take over. It was then that Administration chose to explain to Mr Baumann the events leading to his detention in [REDACTED], England, and that he could choose to be employed by Reliable Excavation Demolition and receive access to the drugs which controlled "the second opinion" or refuse the offer and be admitted to [REDACTED] Sanatorium, Germany. To Administration's knowledge, Mr Baumann was entirely coherent, rational and fully aware of himself when he agreed to the proposal._

_Afterwards, all records of and documents pertaining to Mr and Mrs Baumann's marriage were located and destroyed, along with all records of Mr Baumann himself. Deeds to the house were transferred solely to Celeste, as well as all major bank account details and other previously shared domestic records._

_One such record (see Inventory Report 109A) was preserved at Mr Baumann's request and appropriate redaction of confidential information. The record was released into his care on the first day of official warfare at the Teufort contested area, and can be located in a 9 inch by twelve inch frame, usually hung on the wall of whichever area of the base Mr Baumann has chosen for his quarters._

_After Celeste had been questioned and released by agents in Stuttgart, Grade A amnesiacs were applied and she now lives a comfortable life in a new home, happily married and expecting a third child. Several news reports and police investigations have been incited to generate cover and for all intents and purposes, it is now widely believed that Mr Baumann committed suicide at the scene. See attached files for further information._

Spy read the entire page as if in a dream. After he had shakily closed the file, he let out a deep breath, feeling as though he had just surfaced from fifty feet under water. Somehow, the reality of the incident report had yet to set in. How had Medic kept all of this to himself? Spy had assumed the lost medical license had been over simple malpractice, maybe an open and closed homicide. But this...This was a whole new level of concerning.

It certainly explained a lot.

He had the sudden urge to cast the file into the fire. To watch it curl up and blacken, disappear into a flurry of ash. But that would only serve in bringing Administration down on both himself and Medic, and that wasn't going to help matters. So he satisfied himself with casting it aside with a disgusted sigh and getting up for another glass of liquor.

He needed it after reading that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Originally I was going to have Celeste die, but a day before posting someone commented with predicitions for this chapter and the ideas were too good for me to pass up. So you know who you are, you angst enabler!
> 
> ~Leon

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This should end up being about five or six chapters long, depends how involved I get with the eventual kissing etc. I would greatly appreciate any feedback you may have on this, so please comment with your thoughts!
> 
> ~Leon


End file.
